


Sunny Afternoons in a Front Room

by 6PomegranateSeeds



Category: Toy Story (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6PomegranateSeeds/pseuds/6PomegranateSeeds
Summary: "Bo had become accustomed to smiling politely & nodding her head. She hadn't been a damsel in years, but she sure felt distressed on afternoons like this."





	Sunny Afternoons in a Front Room

Bo thinks it was around Mrs. Arlene St. Cloud's house that she officially became an antique. Oh, how she hated the word. She hated the smell, she hated the sound, and she could all but taste it on the tip of her tongue if she thought about it too hard. But here she was, at least one house removed from Mrs. Arlene St. Cloud, in another glass cabinet collecting dust and old stories. Bo was too kind to tell the other antiques that no, she did not enjoy watching the bridge club or no, she did not have an opinion as to whether a feather duster or a new Swiffer duster really did their porcelain justice. She had trained her nose quite carefully to not turn up in the face of such questions.

  
Bo had become accustomed to smiling politely & nodding her head. She hadn't been a damsel in years, but she sure felt distressed on afternoons like this.

Joseph Allison was a cowboy. That might have been why Bo spent so much of her time in this new house, one or two or it didn't matter & she couldn't remember how many removed from Mrs. Arlene St. Cloud, in his company. The glass cabinet sat proudly on display in the foyer of this house, plenty of sunshine. Bo liked that her sheep liked it. Bo hated it in the sinking spot in the bottom of her heart and Joseph Allison did his best each day to coax a smile out of her.

Joseph Allison was made of porcelain & was far older than Bo. His paint wasn't as bright as it had once been (but he assured her the red of his shirt would have just about blinded her before, so it was all for the best), and he never talked about how he lost most of the left portion of his face.

They all had their battle scars, these antiques. Bo was sure she had hers too, if not on her dress then surely on her heart.

Joseph Allison was a perfect afternoon companion. Bo probably could have used a day or two like the ones with him back at Andy's. Calm & reflective. Good for a spell, but not what she had envisioned for her life. Joe would tell her stories, Bo would watch the sheep frolic with Joe's felt horse Whisper. And most importantly if her face ever got to looking too far away, he'd leave her be, let her think. Joe thought the wistful look she got on her face as she looked at his silhouette was a little strange. But she never imposed her questions on him, he was kind enough to do the same.

Bo didn't think she'd feel so affected when the estate went for sale and the prospect of losing this home loomed large. She would definitely miss Joe, and probably miss the sweet cherubs the shelf above, and she might even miss the bridge club. She worried for her porcelain elbows and the corners of the sheep's wool. She worried she'd be left behind, forgotten and discarded. Bo watched as people passed through the house, taking notes on the tables and chairs and glass cabinets they'd be vying for later. Joe held her hand each night through the process, telling her of the certainty that a fine gal such as herself would be an asset to any room, to any family. She didn't insult his intelligence with reassurances back, they both knew his prospects were dim. His kindness would stay with her long after they were split apart.

This new room, new home, was bright even from behind the bubble wrap that encased Bo and her sheep. She could feel the warmth of the house and knew immediately that she was unlikely to be relegated to another front parlor, another glass cabinet. Bo knew she had been a special case so many rooms ago on Molly's bedside table and that lamps don't usually get much fanfare, so she did not take offense when no welcoming committee greeted her unwrapping. Ruffling our her skirt, and patting the sheep on their heads she surveyed the room. Green walls, a wicker trunk, a star mobile above the bed. It'd be a long time since she'd been in some sweet girl's room. Her heart swelled at the prospect.  She traced her fingers along the grooves of the block letters that sat on her new shelf, her new home:

 

B O N N I E


End file.
